


Faces in Front of Me

by riseuplogan (WonderAvian)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderAvian/pseuds/riseuplogan
Summary: Logan draws with straight lines.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Kudos: 17





	Faces in Front of Me

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song straight lines by silverchair

Logan draws with straight lines. The only curves that manage to find themselves appearing on the sheet of paper he’s absentmindedly doodling on are perfect circles. It results in his sketches almost always looking like rough copies of Picasso style paintings.

They’re a bit weird, but they’re not at all bad either.

Logan doesn’t draw often, choosing only to whittle away his time in his room sketching when he knows the others to be busy and his schedules to be complete. His pride keeps him from sharing his work with the others.

That, and he has a reputation to uphold.

One day Logan is summoned to assist Thomas with a pressing problem, and he leaves his room at once, eager to prove himself useful to the others and Thomas ~~and himself.~~

Roman wanders into the empty room while Logan deals with their host’s personal life. He intends to find Logan’s latest list of video ideas to expand on, and he ends up quite literally accidentally stumbling across the small spiral-bound sketchbooks instead.

His interest piqued, Roman can’t help but look into Logan’s private work. He’s surprised by what he finds. 

Careful turning of the pages reveal countless drawings of himself, Virgil, Patton and Thomas, all obviously drawn with utmost care. There’s even a few unfinished sketches of Remus and Deceit. These sketches are messy, the lines wonky and circles imperfect, as if Logan’s hand had been shaking.

Though the style and technique is limited, the sketches manage to convey a strange emotion that Roman doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. The raw feeling that bleeds from the pages comes as a pure shock.

He’s never thought the logical side to be so… expressive.

Roman sifts through the book more insistently. Try as he might, he can’t find any sketches of Logan himself.

The illustrations begin to die out and Roman is left turning empty pages. He closes the book and rests a hand against the blank cover reverently.

Roman knows Logan could be coming back at any second, so he forcefully pulls his gaze away from the book and gently places it back where he found it.

He doesn’t bother to search for the list he came for in the first place. Instead he turns on his heel and heads back to his room to think.

Logan returns to his room not long after Roman leaves. He resumes his cross-legged position on the floor and continues doodling with a sense of satisfaction and a contented smile. If Logan ever notices that anything is amiss, he doesn’t pay it any mind.

The next day, Logan awakens at six am on the dot to begin his daily duties. He spots something wedged through the gap under the door and immediately tilts his head, cautious. For as messy as his room gets, Logan still manages to maintain an accurate record of where everything is in his head. The thing on the floor, logically, shouldn’t be there.

He slips out of bed and swaps his pyjamas for his signature polo, dress slacks, shoes, and necktie, and deftly picks up the thing on the floor. It’s a small sketchbook, not too much unlike his own, save for a rather garish amount of glitter glued to the front cover.

The very first page contains an illustration of himself. Its of course very different from his own style, what with this one being stunningly photo realistic. It creates a strange sense of dissociation in the logical side to see his own face smiling up at him.

There’s a note written in an enthusiastic scrawl across the cardboard that is the back of the cover.

_You deserve to be immortalised too, even if it’s only for a lifetime. Don’t hide away and certainly don’t be afraid to share your art. In the end, it’s always worth it._

It’s not signed, but Logan doesn’t need a signature to know who painted his face so painstakingly.

He stands there, sketchbook open in his arms, staring down at the gift given to him for an embarrassingly long time. If he had emotions, which he definitely didn’t, then perhaps he would say he was ‘touched.’

Whatever that meant, anyway.

Eventually his brain reboots and his body unfreezes. Logan walks on unsteady legs to his bedside table, opening the uppermost drawer and placing the glittery sketchbook next to his own more modest one.

Logan stares at it a minute longer before he shuts the drawer with a tone of finality. He adjusts his glasses and fixes his shirt and tie.

Time to face the day.


End file.
